Running
by HatakeKaede-san
Summary: A series of short one shots revolving around the Twelfth Doctor and Clara set at various points of time. Mostly angst and hurt/comfort because I am a terrible person. Probably can be read as Whouffaldi if you squint.
1. Drowning

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who.

 **Drowning**

Despite his fears Clara didn't hesitate even one second before she grabbed his hand and followed him into the TARDIS. And off they went on a stream of adventures full of alien planets and beating monsters, always fighting the good fight. He kept waiting for the day she would ask him to slow down and stop, demand to be returned to her silly boring human life and stupid job but the request never came. She was running, running faster than he had ever done.

It was inevitable. He had to do something before they reached the point of no return. At the speed she was throwing herself into the next adventure, always dancing on a very thin line daring death to come take her, they were bound up to end up there pretty soon. And he could not bear the thought of that. He could not even let himself think of the possibility of standing over her broken body one day with the knowledge that he could have stopped it right here and now.

They were sitting on the beach, close to each other but not quite touching, still worlds apart watching the third sun set.

"How long are we going to stay here?" Clara asked.

The Doctor tried to fight the stab at his hearts he felt when he heard the boredom in her voice: "Don't you want to watch? It's quite beautiful."

"I suppose it is," she huffed. "But I don't like sitting still. And I thought that you didn't either."

"That was Bow Tie, not me," the Doctor spat out disgusted. "There's nothing wrong with being idle once in a while, especially if there's such beauty in front of your eyes."

"Okay," Clara sighed. "We can stay if that's what you want."

The Doctor continued to watch the sunset in silence but when he turned to Clara he noticed that her gaze was elsewhere. She was staring at the water intently.

"A penny for your thoughts?" the Doctor offered finally.

"I've been thinking lately," she started unsure, her face once again malfunctioning with the sad smile.

"Well, thinking's good. I was afraid you'd go all pudding brain on me for a bit there," the Doctor tried lightening the mood.

She didn't laugh: "You've died before, right?"

"Several times," the Doctor sighed not liking where the conversation was going one bit. "I don't recommend it much."

"What does it feel like?"

He didn't detect curiosity in her voice, it was more of a calculated question.

"Well, that quite depends on how you die. If you're as unfortunate as me there's a lot of pain involved quite often," he tried to explain: "but I've never truly died, Clara. You can't equate regeneration with death. I get rewritten but I'm still alive."

He didn't quite feel that he managed to hammer the point home.

Her eyes glazed over with a distant expression as she finally whispered: "I've been thinking about drowning."

"Clara," he began his voice soft but mingled with fear and fiery red anger: "you're scaring me."

"The day after my mum died I took a bath and the next thing I knew my head was underwater. Slowly the water filled in my nose and my ears and I could feel it, almost taste it in my lungs and if I could hold on just a little longer I could be with my mum again. But then there was a pat of me kicking and screaming 'I want to live!' and I went out of the water, took in a few deep breaths and it was all over. But just for those few seconds I felt at peace, it would have been so easy, no more pain, no more suffering. Just nothing,"  
she recounted the tale in a low voice playing nervously with her fingers. "Before Christmas it almost felt like I was drowning again. But without the ability to reach that point of peace."

"Before Christmas, so you no longer..." the Doctor stammered desperately hoping to find an upside to her story.

"Not when I'm with you," she shook her head and avoided looking at the setting sun: "well not most of the time."

"Not when you're running," he said voicing the unspoken words.

"No, not when we're running. Running feels more like swimming through the water," Clara acknowledged.

"But you can't keep on running forever, Clara," the Doctor breathed out touching her hand tenderly.

"Funny," she let out a hollow laugh. "You could have fooled me. Isn't that what you've been doing all your life? Almost all of your lifetimes?

"Yes!" he cried. "And don't you see, Clara? Am I not proof enough that running forever doesn't lead you anywhere? The iceberg just gets bigger and there's more and more that can sink you to the pit of the ocean."

"I'm not about to stop," she said decisively.

"I know," he said gravely. "But how about we just slow down for a bit here and there? Not for your sake but for mine. I am a very old man after all."

"Doctor," she laughed hollowly: "you're not even that old for a Time Lord."

"Perhaps. How would you know anyway? But watching you run ages me a hundred every second. Seeing you throw yourself into danger makes ME feel like drowning, Clara. And it's unbearable. So allow this silly old man the courtesy of enjoying the swimming during a slow peaceful moment somewhere."

"You were right, it is beautiful," Clara conceded her hand tightly clasped in the Doctor's as she finally looked at the setting sun.


	2. Echoes

**A/N:** This one takes place shortly after the comic story "Blood and Ice" which was published in the Doctor Who Magazine and in which Twelve and Clara meet one of her echoes, Winnie. Unlike the other echoes which we saw on the TV shows, Winnie doesn't die saving the Doctor but scrapes through. This makes Clara realise that not all of the echoes died and the Doctor comments that this knowledge managed to chase some of Clara's demons away. The comic deals with Clara's feelings about the echoes and acknowledges them in a way that the TV show proper never did.

 **Echoes**

The TARDIS wandered aimlessly around the time vortex between one journey and the next one. It was quiet, too quite for the Doctor's liking. True, he didn't appreciate when his companions chattered on and on with no end in sight but their babbling was also a constant reminder that they were alive and well. When people like Clara Oswald were this silent, it could only signify that something was troubling them.

"What's the matter?" he finally asked.

Her troubled huge eyes found his: "What you said earlier about demons...I don't think I'm completely done fighting them just yet."

He should have expected this, should have known that she was still troubled with the events of earlier that day.

"Clara, I thought we were over this. Winnie lived."

"She did," Clara agreed but her eyes glistened with tears: "And so did some others, probably. But not all of them. Many others died. Because of me."

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Saving me."

"No," she said decisively. "Sometimes the only decisions you can make are bad ones. But you still have to choose. I did what needed to be done."

"But that doesn't mean that you will stop beating yourself up about the decision," the Doctor breathed out.

"You would know all about that." Clara gave him a sad smile.

"I suppose I would."

"Tell me about them?" she requested.

"About whom?"

"The echoes, the ones you remember. The ones you saw die," she clarified apologetically. She was asking him to share memories which hurt him, she knew.

"Don't think hearing that will make you feel better," the Doctor tried to talk her out of it.

"Probably not. But I feel like I need to know."

There was an unspoken hint in her voice, a hope that he would understand why she needed to know.

The Time Lord sighed: "As you wish."

He tried to think back to the first time that Clara had in some form touched his life. At the corner of his brain he could detect fading memories of Clara's ghosts roaming around all of his lifetimes. Sometimes he had trouble distinguishing between the ones which were real and the tricks his ancient mind sometimes played on him such as her soft voice chasing his demons away and teaching him about fear when he was merely a wee boy back on Gallifrey. He settled on the first memory which without a shadow of a doubt was a real one.

"I've never seen Oswin's face at the Dalek Asylum. That was all the way back with Amy and Rory. The Daleks abducted the three of us in order to ask for my help of all things. The Ponds were going through a rough patch, Amelia Pond, always so stubborn," he trailed off. "Sorry, that's not what you wanted to hear about. So, Oswin, junior entertainment manager, Starship Alaska. Their ship crashed at the Asylum and she was fighting the Daleks by baking soufflés for a year."

"Soufflés," Clara smiled sadly remembering her mum. "But wait, if she crashed on the Dalek Asylum, how could she have been baking soufflés? Where did she get the eggs and the milk?"

The Doctor averted his eyes but Clara didn't need him to spell it out as the realisation hit her. She clasped a hand in front of her mouth: "They made her into a...she was a Dalek."

"No," the Doctor objected recalling Oswin's last words. "Whatever they might have done to her, she was Oswin Oswald, she thought the Daleks and she was human." The Doctor put particular emphasis on the last word.

Clara nodded with tear filled eyes: "What about the Victorian governess?"

"Clara," the Doctor wanted to try to steer the discussions into a different direction.

"No, Doctor. Just tell me. Please?" He could never resist those big sad eyes, even less so when they inflated as this very moment.

"Well, technically, she wasn't really a governess. More of a barmaid. She helped me defeat the Great Intelligence. I even gave her a TARDIS key. And then..."

"She died," Clara filled in.

"Yes," he nodded: "but that was when I made the connection between her and Oswin. And started looking for you."

"Well, you certainly found me."

"Leading into you making the decisions which brought me to you in the first place. The ways of time are funny sometimes," he laughed.

She didn't join in: "You mentioned that I keep the memories of them at bay as a sort of defence mechanism. Like kind of a mental block. But Time Lords are telepathic, right?"

"Yes, we are a telepathic species," he agreed uneasily his mind already having made the jump towards her next request. "I've never been particularly good at it though."

"But you could...you know?" she chewed at her bottom lip.

"Clara," the Doctor said warningly. "It could burn you out."

"Just five minutes?" she asked him and he didn't miss the deeper meaning behind her words.

He sighed in frustration as he sat down next to her putting both of his hands on her temples. Humans, why did they all have to be so stubborn? He tried to be as gentle as he could as he found the block in her mind and slowly untangled it. She still writhed under his arms and let out a scream of agony as the thousands of lives and deaths streamed into her conciousness. She had dreamt of them sometimes but never felt this kind of pain, in sleep the human mind could build walls and defence mechanisms which were unattainable in a state of conciousness for such a telepathically weak and feeble race. The Doctor tried to steer her thoughts towards Winnie and the other who had survived but Clara was too strong willed and he was too dreadful a telepath. She overpowered him and sought the ones who had died, letting herself feel every ounce of their suffering. Way more than her mind could handle, and he could feel her slipping away into the darkness under his touch. He put the block back in place and called for her softly leading her back into the land of the living. She collapsed into his embrace, a sobbing mess, tears mixed with mascara streaking down her face. She did not thank him for rescuing her from falling deep into the void.

"Why did you stop?" Clara accused.

He took in a deep breath as a single tear fell down from his eye and admitted the truth at last: "Because I can't bear to see you cry. Not like this."

"I need to...I have to...," she wouldn't give up.

"You gave them your five minutes, Clara," the Doctor reasoned and cupped her face: "You gave them your five minutes and you can move on now."

"I'm so tired, Doctor," she murmured.

The Time Lord once again put his hands at her temples. Only this time he was going to make use of his dad skills rather than the telepathic ones. He couldn't fight Clara's demons for her but it was in his powers to grant her a few hours of restful sleep without dreaming of living and dying in a million places.


	3. Pudding Brains

**A/N:** I write these as they come tome but in case that you have prompts, I would be more than happy to oblige.  
 **Summary:** During an adventure Clara finds herself in a sticky situation which prompts confusion on the Doctor's part and some bad memories on hers.

 **Pudding Brains**

Clara found herself pinned against the wall by a pair of strong hands. Just as the dirty man crashed his mouth against hers, she heard the much appreciated sound of the TARDIS.

"Am I interrupting something?" came the Scottish drawl confounding the villager.

"Not at all," Clara said seizing the opportunity which the Doctor's distraction offered and gave the guy a good knee in the knackers. "I was just leaving."

A few hours and a rescued village later, Clara found herself sitting in the Doctor's chair in the TARDIS console room sipping at her cuppa and flipping through the pages of her favourite edition of Pride and Prejudice. She was trying to read but it was quite a hard feat to accomplish when one old grumpy Scottish Time Lord was giving you the thousand year stare from the other side of the room.

She cleared her throat: "Is there something wrong, Doctor?"

"You tell me."

"Me? I'm alright, Doctor," she laughed.

The Time Lord raised his eyebrows.

"What is it, Doctor?" Clara finally asked trying to fight the frustration in her voice, not understanding where this was coming from.

"It's just," he tried to start. "I don't understand how you can be so nonchalant about it."

"About what?"

"About that thing before, with the villager."

"Oh, that," Clara laughed. "Well, I suppose that after a while you just get used to it."

"Wait," the Doctor furrowed his brow: "does this mean that this has happened to you before?"

She lowered her eyes: "I suppose. He certainly wasn't the first guy who wanted to kiss me without permission."

The Time Lord's eyes narrowed: "Why would they want to do that?"

Clara huffed in frustration. This certainly wasn't a good time for him to start the jabs about her appearance and age: "Because while you might be quite oblivious to the fact, I am very good looking. And before you say anything, shut up, I am and I know it."

The Doctor shook his head vigorously: "That's not what I meant. I know very well why someone might want to kiss you, Clara."

She tried to not ponder the implications of that statement and instead settled on asking a question: "What did you mean then?"

His eyes locked with hers, his face the picture of perfect innocence as he whispered: "Why would they want to hurt you?"

Clara let out a dark laugh: "I suppose they're just jerks. Pudding brains and all that."

"That's not a very good excuse," the Doctor protested.

"No, it's not," she acknowledged. "I genuinely don't know why. Is it not a thing amongst your people?"

"Time Lords aren't generally all that sold on physical contact, Clara."

"So that's where the no hugging comes from, eh?" she smiled.

"Don't try to change the subject, Clara," the Doctor wouldn't let the conversation slide that easily. "Has this happened before with me?"

"Well, there was that time with Robin," she started quickly prompting a dark look in the Doctor's eyes before he could say "I'll kill him" she continued: "not Robin, Doctor. The Sheriff. And nothing happened really. I stopped him before he could do anything. I'm a big girl, Doctor and I can take care of myself."

The Doctor shook his head: "I never suggested you couldn't." She hadn't noticed but he had walked over from the other side of the room during their conversation and was now kneeling besides the chair with his hands on her knees.

"There's something more," he offered.

"Isn't there always," she gave him a sad smile.

"Tell me?" It wasn't an order, more of an ask to let him in.

She averted his stare as her eyes took upon a glassy expression recalling locked away memories: "I was sixteen, went over to a party at a friend's house. Had a bit too much to drink, wasn't used to booze much. I got sick and there was this guy, Kevin, he offered to walk me ..." Clara's breath hitched.

"Except he didn't walk you home," the Doctor interrupted.

"No," she shook her head: "He took me to this really dark alley and the next thing I knew he had his tongue down my throat. And then he passed out before...,"

"Before anything else could happen," the Doctor finished for her.

"Yeah, turns out he was even more drunk than me," she nodded.

The Doctor was now back to fumbling with the buttons but she could see that he was just trying to distract himself as he was visibly shaking in anger.

"What was his last name?" he growled at last.

"Doctor, no," she said strictly."I don't need you to fight my battles for me. That's not why I told you. Besides last I heard the guy was safely behind bars."

"Not the only one then?"

"No," Clara shook her head."The others weren't as lucky as me though."

"Wouldn't call that lucky, Clara," the Doctor let out a hollow laugh. "Why did you tell me then?"

She raised her eyebrows as in to ask "Don't you already know?". He searched the big puppy eyes of hers before eventually saying: "You never told anyone before."

Clara closed her eyes.

"And you're harbouring feelings of guilt because of the ones who came after you."

She didn't need to speak up in order for his suspicions to be confirmed.

"I wasn't strong enough," she whispered.

The Time Lord shook his head: "Clara, you can't always be strong. You were scared," he tried to reason.

She looked up at him: "I'm not scared anymore."

"Meaning?"

"Want to return to that village and find out what that guy was getting up to?"

"And put him away," the Doctor suggested.

"If need be," Clara confirmed with resolve.


End file.
